Subtlety
by AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: 1535. The best place to hide something is in plain sight. Oneshot. Canon and historically accurate.


**1535**

Mary's face was smooth, but fear coursed in her like an underground river. It made her head pound and her heart palpitate, as she made her way through the throngs of ladies-in-waiting milling about. She usually shut herself in her room to pray during break times, and she felt distinctly out of place down here. She suspected the others felt just as awkward. But that was neither here nor there; she could not confide in any of them, and she was terrified for it.

* * *

 _Lady Shelton was in a towering temper as she regarded her recalcitrant charge standing before her. Said bane of her existence had been caught relaying messages to the Imperial Ambassador in secret, with the assistance of her personal chambermaid._

 _"Under no circumstances will you be allowed another maid. Your accomplice will be dismissed and banished from Hatfield before the day is out, and the King will be notified of this," Lady Shelton pronounced. "The only servants you will be allowed are my own daughters, as they are the only ones I can trust not to abet you in your pretended arrogance."_

 _"Then I am to be left without any personal servants?" It was unthinkable for royalty to be left completely unattended. Even her mother, currently rotting in a cold, lonely castle, was allowed a modest number of attendants. "You know I will not be able to accept the services of your daughters, as they do not call me Princess. Surely the King would be furious to hear of this!"_

 _Lady Shelton shook her head. "You must enjoy this little game you play, for I can think of no other reason why you insist on cutting your nose off to spite your face. If I didn't know better, I'd think you revel in the chance to wallow in self-pity. If you really wanted to remedy your situation, you would stop charging at everything full-tilt, and learn to employ some tact. Some finesse, some subtlety!"_

 _The governess strode to the door of Mary's poorly appointed chamber and threw it open. She had not taken two paces when she turned around to deliver one more shot across the bow. "You had better learn to do so, if it is not too late. If I were the King, I would have thrown you out long ago. Only yesterday, he said he would have you beheaded for disobeying the laws of the realm. And since you have just been caught consorting with enemies of England- an essentially treasonable matter…"_

 _Shelton trailed off tellingly, offering Mary a nasty smile before slamming the door behind her_.

* * *

Mary's first instinct had been, of course, to seek out Chapuys. She was sorely tempted to go tearing out of the manor if need be, or inveigle someone else to carry out a message. But that would not work; everyone at Hatfield would be keeping their distance from her now, and Mary could not in good conscience ask someone else to take such risks for her. It would be too obvious, too clumsy a gesture, especially so soon after getting caught. Like Shelton had said, if Mary wanted to change her situation, she would have to be crafty…

She had skulked around in odd corners of the country house, her ears pricked for any useful bits of information. Her mother would have been ashamed to know Mary was eavesdropping; then again, her mother never could have imagined that Mary's father would consider beheading her. Mary had kept her ear to the ground, trying to glean- well, what exactly she was listening for, she didn't know, but her prowling had paid off.

She had overheard, almost in passing, that Dr. Richard Featherstone, her mother's old chaplain and Mary's former Latin tutor, had been brought to Hatfield to pay his respects to the "Princess" Elizabeth. It was meant to humiliate him, just as Thomas More was being humbled after agreeing to acknowledge Anne Boleyn as queen of England. Mary did not begrudge either man this; she knew they had shrank from acknowledging her father as Supreme Head of the Church, and that they would soon be called upon to do so.

Earlier this morning, she had asked the steward for a private audience with Dr. Featherstone, and was flatly refused. She had expected as much; she was simply laying the groundwork for her actual maneuver. It was why she was outside at break time, so that she could be safe in relative anonymity among the other ladies. There was no crime in any lady-in-waiting speaking in plain view with a visitor to the household, especially when there were plenty of witnesses to verify that they were simply speaking of matters that pertained to their long acquaintance.

It was not long before she happened upon Dr. Featherstone. He smiled when he saw her, his old pupil, and moved through the crowd to be closer to her, though at a sedate pace. It would not do for one of Katherine of Aragon's most prominent supporters to seem overly eager to meet with her daughter.

"You are in good health, my lady?" he asked gently.

"Yes, I am, thank you," Mary responded. She wanted so _desperately_ to cut past the pleasantries and to the message she wanted to deliver, but she checked her anxiety. _Patience_ , she reminded herself. _Tact. Subtlety._

"I am glad to hear of it. I recall you were a student of the most impeccable Latin. Do you remember how we used to play guessing games?"

Mary did remember those guessing games, conducted in the schoolroom at Ludlow, when her greatest concern was memorizing the correct conjugations of Latin verbs. It was a far-off memory, thin as gossamer.

"I remember those days fondly," she said, plastering on a cordial smile. "But I fear that I have gone so long without speaking Latin, I can hardly speak two words correctly."

That was a bald-faced lie. She still recited the forbidden Latin prayers every day; it was why she prayed alone. But that was neither here nor there.

"Would you test me, to see if my skills are still intact?" she asked suddenly. She affected an expression of pained concentration, taking care to stumble over herself as she spoke.

"Habeo urgente nuntium. Facta est autem rex et abscidit caput meum. Quia non legibus regni."

The women around her shuffled in confusion as they listened to their betters speak of erudite matters of which they knew nothing.

Dr. Featherstone's countenance grew dark, and he seemed quite unable to find words. He finally stuttered out, "Forgive me, my lady. I fear the years have done much to erode your Latin, and I had not the wit to understand it."

Mary winced. "Alas! I had forgotten how honest you could be in your critiques."

She clasped her hand over her heart, as though she had been stabbed. Inwardly she cringed, as the other ladies snickered.

Mary smiled tightly. "You always were a most devoted tutor to me, and I trust that devotion has not changed since then? You would do anything to help me improve my Latin skills?"

She lifted her gaze to his and let it linger for a moment, two moments, three.

"Yes, my lady," Featherstone said soberly. "It would be my honor to help you improve your Latin… or anything else where you may be lacking."

Mary nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Featherstone."

The good doctor gave her a little bow, then hastened off.

The ladies around her quickly lost interest, thinking it was a useless exchange. Mary could well imagine them gossiping that the fallen Princess was losing the skills that made her worthy of royalty, for what Princess could not string together a simple Latin sentence?

She schooled her features into serenity, but her stomach was pounding. She had done what little she could, when she knew nothing of subtlety. She was a Tudor after all, and being bold and brash was in her bones. She had worn her heart upon her sleeves, letting her thoughts be splashed upon the canvas of her life like bold strokes in a daring work of art. Now that circumstance compelled her to be subtle, she had done so in the only way she knew: by being bold.

Mary had once heard that the best place to hide something is in plain sight, and she prayed the maxim would hold true.

* * *

A few days later, Hatfield received another visitor from court: Nicholas Carew. While he was distantly related to the harlot and a close friend of Mary's father, he had always been steadfastly loyal to his Queen and had many connections at court. Mary was glad of him there, even if he kept his distance for both of their sakes.

While Mary happened to be nearby during an off-moment, he caught her gaze and held it for a moment too long for it to be transitory. He gave her a curt nod, almost a flick of his chin, then turned away from her.

Warmth and relief flooded Mary.

She had managed to buy herself some time and safety.

She still had many loyal allies working on her behalf.

She had gambled on her ability to improvise, relying on nothing more than her own wits, and it had delivered.

* * *

 **A/N:** This incident is taken directly from history. I took some liberties with the exact identity of the doctor, as Chapuys never mentions his name, only that he was a doctor who had been acquaintanced with Mary in her days as a Princess. However, it is reasonable to assume it was Richard Featherstone, as he was Mary's Latin tutor in her youth and had some medical training. He also appears in my other story "Shifting Sands". Featherstone was imprisoned for refusing to take the Oath of Supremacy and eventually hanged, drawn, and quartered in 1540.

The silent exchange with Nicholas Carew is completely my invention, but not implausible, as the Carews were loyal to Mary & her mother and communicated their support to her several times while she was out of favor. Carew also lost his head in 1539, mostly due to his allegiance to Mary.

If anyone has any ideas or requests for any moments from Mary's life, seeing her interact with other Tudor figures, AU Mary-centric ideas, or even an entirely Mary-unrelated idea, leave me a comment!


End file.
